Disco Spero Iterum
by Missy Skywalker
Summary: When Anakin dies on the Death Star, he doesn't know what to expect next. Will he be allowed to enter the Force? Will Padmé and the Jedi welcome him? And why can't he see his mother? The Empire's journey is over, but Anakin's is just beginning.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Anakin Skywalker stared up at the boy, no the man, that was peering down at his weakening father. The blonde boy was balancing precariously, leaning against the mass of black clothe and machinery. His breathing was fluctuating, though it was near impossible to tell, as the quick, but deep, breathes were almost completely lost in the panic of the people fleeing and the nearly enflamed ship that was slowly being consumed alive. The two men in the throat of the beast were the very few that remained still, ignoring the others' attempts to escape the blaze. The man on top of the pile of near-rubble crouched over it, as though his body would protect the dying one from the fumes that were sure to quickly devour them, should they not leave this death trap soon.

They were almost silent, murmuring various meaningful words to each other. It was obvious that, in time, they wouldn't actually recall the conversation that they had shared. No, they would remember their feelings. The love that bound them together would be remembered by both. They would remember the struggle to keep their morals quelled, while they still pursued the truth, and perhaps, the other. The boy wanted his father. The father wanted the son. It just had taken them far too long to realize it.

Now, when the father was just about to enter the world of the dead, they came together and exchange a final farewell. Both of their eyes, so similar in their blue, were beginning to threaten the spacecraft, ready to explode with liquid before they were blown apart. The boy's throat was evidently as dry as the home that they had once shared, just fifteen years apart. They had always been apart, never together, never in a time where a relationship was at all possible. Now, at the end, they were reunited for the final time, before the father moved onward and the son stayed put.

For one last time, the boy called to his father, but after getting no response, laid his father's head upon his escape route's ramp. He stared at the now-inanimate body, once, he imagined, so full of life. He unabashedly wanted to cry but was able to stop the tears, long enough to pull both himself and his father's corpse to safety. Once upon the ship, he didn't restrain himself.

He cried. He cried for the father he never knew. He cried for the soul of the man that had once been so good and so in love. He cried for the mother he never knew and now, would never know, even second-hand. He cried for the disfigured corpse and why his father had ever become like that. He cried for his sister, who would never accept her father.

Ultimately, he cried for himself. He cried for the boy who never knew his father, finally got him back and lost him once more.


	2. Chapter 1: The Awakening

Chapter 1

'Why do I feel sunshine on my face?' I question silently. 'I wanted "eternal peace" if I even deserve it, not sunshine.' I suppose I was lying to myself, like I did constantly. I had always loved the sun especially like Tatooine's. After Mustafar, though, my love of it had transformed. I had been trapped in my wicked suit, which made my insides crawl every time I was in too high a temperature, not to mention how my entire body would feel disgustingly hot and slimy with sweat, oozing from my remaining human body, not to mention the lack of my limbs, which made any form of, well, really anything a tad difficult.

My life suit enclosed what was left of my corpse after Mustafar, so I simply couldn't do anything but live; only my physical needs in the suit were met. I couldn't even move properly. I obviously couldn't train like I used to, and I definitely couldn't feel the sun on my face like I loved to.

"I did tell you, didn't I?" a female voice says, sounding like a goddess, purring gently. It was a soothing sound that only one person could create. Only one person could ever make me feel so at peace with just a few words. It was Padmé, my one and only angel. All of a sudden, I realize something. Padmé was dead, so thus I was dead and concluding that she was in Heaven, for where else would an angel go, the Force allowed her precious chosen one/murdering Sith lord to journey there-here, as well.

As these thoughts slowly occurred to my very sluggish brain, I realized the conversation was continuing. Quickly, deciding that I'd like to hear the conversation without them knowing I'm awake, I keep my eyes closed, hoping that whoever else was around had a voice identifiable to me.

"Well, you're right, as always. It's completely my fault; I was sure it was impossible. He always did say my weakness was trusting the Jedi authorities so much. He just had to prove them wrong again," an elderly voice said, scratching like an old record at points. Without opening my eyes I could determine two things for certain: he was quite amused in an odd, sarcastic way, and he was my best friend in the entire world.

Obi-wan.

'Wait!' I think, utterly surprised at my own foolishness. 'How could I count him as my friend? I KILLED him! He probably hates me. Even I, the least modest of anyone ever, hate me.'

Suddenly, I wanted more than anything else to pinch myself and wake up from this mess. Maybe if I try hard enough I'll actually awake next to Padmé, and this will all be a terrible nightmare, the whole 'going Sith' thing and killing Padmé had all been a figment of the darker side of my imagination. Unfortunately, I knew that it was impossible, for I had wished that everyday for the past twenty years. I accepted that I wouldn't rise from this. I had to accept it everyday after I would wake up and hope fleetingly, desperately, that it all was a nightmare. After all this time, I finally know it wasn't. As these and more thoughts try and squeeze into my brain, I realize that the conversation between Obi-wan and Padmé was almost over.

"We'll settle this later. I think he's almost awake," she says as I hear her clothing ruffle to allow her to bend down, and I feel her soothing kiss on my cheek. It's the first time I have felt her touch in so many years. It was a gentle caress against my rough skin, but it was enough to make my heart beat faster than any light saber duel and make my breathing intensify to nearly unprecedented levels.

"Padmé," I whisper. It wasn't a question, just a fact, as though I had to make sure it wasn't someone else, as though I hadn't known it was her immediately.

"Yes." She also answers without a questioned response. Finally, I open my eyes, blinking a few times, trying to see clearly for the first time without assistance in a long time. Because I'm lying upon the ground, I can't see much of my surroundings. I stare up at Padmé's face. It still looks exactly like it had when I had seen her last on Mustafar.

Her face is molded into a smile, though. During the war it had been a challenge to get her to give a true grin. Her almond-shaded hair is hanging in gorgeous, flawless curls, gently shaping her petite face. Her eyes are gazing down at me. For a moment our eyes met. The more I stare into the cinnamon orbs and try to even imagine more beautiful eyes, the more I saw my own reflection, glimmering back at me. Then our eyes break the almost tangible connection. I lovingly gawk at her beauty and finally grasp the fact she was really here, and she was also wearing the dress she wore to our wedding. The most perfect night in existence.

"Padmé, am I dreaming?" I know she's really here. I finally understand this. For some reason, however, the words come tumbling out of my mouth anyway. It was like a young child who knew not to touch the a precious and breakable object, and as he decides to turn around and play with something else, he finds his arm reaching out to it anyway, almost without his control, but it's what he had desired the whole time.

"No," she purrs, like a ferocious tiger wanting, not to kill something but to have her stomach rubbed.

"Padmé, am I dead?" I know I'm dead. I really do. Why I would ask her this almost absurd question, but I think, staring up at her, she knows that death, what I've been trying to allude for many years, is a concept that's difficult to grasp, to say the least.

"Yes," she whispers so quietly I could barely hear her airy response.

'I'm really dead,' I say to myself. For another moment I lay there, just staring up at my angel, trying to comprehend the nightmare my life had turned into.

She didn't move from her kneeling position, but leaned back, sensing I needed a few moments of silence to ponder this twist of events.

In my case, a twist of events is usually not a good thing. A twist of events led to me becoming the new apprentice of Palpatine. I mentally shuttered at his filthy name, as though I was shaking off his hold on me. However, a twist of events led me to meeting and marrying Padmé. A turn of events had led to my child, my children it would be, I suppose. Having a daughter was another concept that would take far more time than the few minutes Padmé would allow me to think, while not start to question my ever-fleeting sanity or my being actually alive, thinking I'm actually in a different body somewhere else. But wait, I'm dead, which brings me back to the point of this mental conversation.

I gave an internal grin. I hadn't had many of these conversations with myself in the past few decades. I probably wouldn't have even recognized what I was doing if I hadn't had a few about Luke recently, which brings me to Luke. I had missed so much time with him. He was full grown. He didn't need a father anymore. If anything, he would be a better role model than me. He became a Jedi, opposed the emperor, and redeemed his father. For some reason, the redemption seemed like it should go under his résumé rather than mine. I was the fool who got myself into that predicament, and he was the rash son that had to save his father, becoming the stronger one, both mentally and physically.

I couldn't help but smile at my son's accomplishment. Here, I had thought I was forever forced into Sithdom, but he came along and proved everyone wrong. Belatedly, I realize it was the first time in a long time I had smiled at someone else's supremacy.

Padmé took my smile as an acceptance to this new twist, and leaned back in.

"My angel," I murmur, even though it feels wrong to call her 'mine' after what I had done. I pull away from her, and turn my head downward to the grass that lay beneath me.

"Anakin?" She utters a name I haven't been addressed by in a long time. It had been even longer since I answered to it, but now, I couldn't imagine being called anything but. She has that hypnotizing effect that I'm not sure is completely healthy, but I care not. I look up at her, with what I hope was a puzzled expression.

I hadn't had to make expressions in twenty years. Speaking of which, it seemed as though I was fully human. I realize it's a little late to realize that, but I'd give up my body thousands of times to keep that grin plastered to her face; she would always draw my attention first.

I suppose I didn't give the right expression because she soon looks upon me with a look I couldn't comprehend. Her eyebrows are arched; her eyes wide, her lips tilt upward, causing a crinkle in her round cheeks. Of course, I could recognize the look. I had seen it enough, but why would she give me that look? The look of love, warmth, approval?

I realize, in retrospect, I was not the one to have killed her directly, for the children survived, but I must have played a key role. How can she forgive me for the atrocities I did in her name? Countless acts of horror have been committed by me. Why does she look upon me with such love?

I keep staring at the grass beneath me, as though I'm scrutinizing its appearance. For a few moments, Padmé is silent, and I try and will the grass to grow, but, alas, how am I going to focus on grass when there is an angel beside me. I leave the grass to its slow growing, and stare up, again, at my wife.

She's still smiling. It hasn't even faded, in fact, if my eyes weren't mistaken, it would seem as if it has grown more. Our eyes meet again and there's another extended silence, before her eyes dart to my hands and takes them within her own. I savor the warmth of her smooth skin and the love that's radiating from her utter presence. She doesn't seem to mind the rough, callused hands that I have, and she appears to be just as ecstatic as myself.

Then, I pull my hands away, using them to prop myself up into a comfortable position. It's then when I see Obi-wan. In my love of Padmé, I had forgotten of the other person in the magnificent valley I was apparently in.

"Anakin," she murmurs into my ear once more. Caught up in our exchange, I again forget our guest. He is standing there, a tad awkwardly, but he seems genuinely happy for us, which is completely absurd. Why would he be happy for a breach in the code? Actually, why would he be happy for a Sith to be just feet away from him, the same one that did him in before?

I look at my beloved again, before asking her, in just one word, "Why?"

She smiles at me and too answers with one word, "Love."

I give her a confused look, but apparently this one worked better than my previous attempt and she explains.

"I love you, so very much, more than I could ever explain in words. I know that the horrendous events that have occurred have happened partially because of your hand in them. However," she pauses, seemingly for dramatic effect, "the fact remains that I'm just as, if not more, madly in love with you as when we said, 'I do'. This isn't an infatuation, this is pure love. This is the love you read about in Nubian folk tales. It's the love of myths. This can't be torn apart by an evil conspirator. I know it'll be difficult, but right now, I love you, and you forgive the ones you love, so I forgive you, and I love you, Anakin Skywalker, more than ever." She had been staring directly at me, right into my eyes the whole declaration. It was eerily reminiscent of what I had said to her when I proposed. I didn't doubt that this hadn't escaped her.

To put it simply, I'm completely taken aback. This was supposed to be the part when I begged on my knees for forgiveness. Actually, forgiveness would come later. This was supposed to be the part when I begged for just a minute chance that we could ever have anything between us for the rest of eternity. How could she love such a monster such as me? I, who had murdered more people than she had ever met. I, who had tortured and brutally murdered all whom I held so dear. She was obviously far too good for the evil Sithlord I was.

"Padmé," I begin, licking my lips, trying to prepare for some eloquent, grandiose speech in return. It had always been her who could write and deliver words with beauty. I was the one who helped with aggressive negotiations.

"Padmé," I start again, "I honestly have nothing to say. How can I even respond to such a beautiful declaration of love? I love you so much, too much. I don't even understand how you can even stand my presence. I have killed millions, all in your name. I love you so much, but how could you bear to even look me in the eye?" I move my gaze to the grass once more. "Why are you forgiving me so easily? Why not make me beg for a moment of your time? Then, perhaps, I would feel a tad more worthy of you. You are the angel that I fell in love with the moment I saw you so many years ago. You, the beautiful queen, and I, the pitiful slave. I see little has changed."

She lifts my chin with her hand, like people would do in holofilms and gave a playful, but intense, smile.

"I see little has changed between us." I give her the puzzled look from before, becoming more familiar with my facial muscles.

"We both love each other so. We both want to be with each other for as long as we live. We would give up everything for each other, but still, something seems to separate our bond of infinite devotion. It was always the Jedi or the Senate, but now, it's you, your self-loathing that wants us apart because you're under the notion you don't deserve me."

Another eloquent speech from the politician. I'll be honest: I didn't believe her for a moment. I was a Sithlord. I murdered millions of people, tearing apart families or killing whole families, it mattered not. I give an involuntary, weak shudder. It seems as though Padmé hasn't lost her mind-reading ability and is staring at me as though I am speaking this aloud.

"Padmé, I don't know what to say. Your time, your love is invaluable to me. You have always been my reason for existing, but I think, no, I know that you should have someone better. Maybe someone who didn't murder half of the galaxy?"

She gives a light chuckle before saying simply, "No. I love you, you love me. The rest will come with time. For now, I am happy with that, and you should be as well."

I find myself smiling, looking adoringly at her picturesque face.

"Now that we have that taken care of," she says, in a more business tone, "there's someone I'd like you to meet." She grabs my hand and yanks me to my feet with more strength than I would ever think could come from someone so small, besides Master Yoda, of course.

"Anakin, this is one of my best friends, Obi-wan Kenobi. Obi-wan, this is my husband, the one I was telling you so much about, Anakin Skywalker." Both Obi-wan and I look at her as though she had lost her mind, but, humoring her, we walk forward and shake hands. His handshake is firm, as always, but there is a gentler undertone, the way he squeezed my palm. Our eyes meet and I force myself to keep the contact, as difficult as it may be. His aquamarine eyes, so much like mine, are neither the harsh nor cruel ones I expected. I idly notice that he looks like he did in the middle of the Clone Wars, with dark hair and far fewer wrinkles, but most of all, he seems genuinely content, like he wasn't shaking hands with his murderer.

The whole experience is eerily reminiscent to my first meeting with him aboard the Nubian starship so many years ago. The memory felt so innocent, so light, neither of us knowing of Qui-gon's murder coming up in mere days, nor of the bond we would share, so strong but taking many years to develop. He breaks off the handshake, though I don't know how long I'd been standing there and quickly forgets the pretence that we are first meeting.

"Anakin," he says, under his breath. It's obvious he had prepared for this meeting, in that he has the calm exterior of a proper general, composed and civilized. However, as much as he prepared, he still stands there, seemingly flabbergasted, just taking in my appearance.

In turn, I stare at him. This meeting is one I never foresaw. It is the one that I was sure I had thrown away on Mustafar and sealed its fate aboard the Death Star. Seeing him again, so young and so happy was impossibly wonderful. It is as though we were never apart, that we could go and battle droids and the Sith in just moments. Just thinking about the Sith teleports me back to the present.

I merely stand there, unable to foresee his actions toward me. Will he swing out his lightsaber and strike me down? Will he act as though I'm his padawan again? How can I treat him as though I never murdered my best friend?

Padmé, obviously discontent by our blatant staring, steps between us, and uncharacteristically pulls us into a three-way hug. I return the gesture a bit awkwardly but no less enthusiastic. I smile at both of them, and they mirror my joy.

Padmé releases us from her grasp and backs away again. It's clear that that move is enough to motivate Obi-wan to find the words to speak to me.

"Anakin?" he asks with a disbelieving smile. I see that I'm not the only one who believes this to be a figment of my wild imagination. I nod my head vigorously, yet cautiously, towards my former master.

I'm pulled into a hug again, this time by Obi-wan. His moves are subtly more intimate than ever before. I take note of the way he puts his hand on my neck and the way he pats my back, like a real father. I had always told him that he could watch after others like a stern, but loving mother, but he had never acted like that toward me. He had always been afraid to become to close to me, I think, in retrospect. He didn't want to lose me like he had lost Qui-gon.

We break off and beam upon each other. The uncontrollable grin is contagious, and Padmé soon gives a wide smile. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so perfect. There were no Separatists, no Sith, no secrets, just Padmé and Obi-wan on a gorgeous, warm day.

"I just can't believe it," he says, after a few minutes. "I was so sure you were really dead." It is blaringly obvious he was not speaking of the death literally.

"I," I start, my voice tremulous, "I was sure I was dead too." I feel my eyes shaking like a rapidly falling podracer. I rapidly blink a few times, and I see him doing the same. I couldn't recall the last time I saw him cry. Actually, I don't think I ever saw him cry, not when we were captured and tortured, not when he battled Count Dooku, his master's master, not even when Qui-gon die. He never shed a tear, that I saw, for his master, even though I knew he took up an enormous portion of his heart, one I never thought I could fill.

"Anakin, I've missed you." He seems to be forcing the words out, not like they hurt, but like they were forbidden from ever reaching his lips. He keeps glancing around, as though he expects someone to come and lock him away for admitting that his heart was vulnerable to others.

"I'd say I missed you too, but that would be a lie. To think of the life I once held was not permitted with _Palpatine_." The word felt like mud or soot in my mouth. It had taken all of my strength to force my tongue to even speak the word, as though it was taboo.

"He never let me think of my old life. I suppose he knew his hold on me depended on my misery and on my guilt. He never deluded himself to think I was loyal to him. Like all Sith, I was attracted to power and it was that hunger of power that could disappear if I recalled what it caused me."

After I give that minute confession, I look at him, and find him completely and totally uncomfortable, not that that surprised me. I could see easily that Obi-wan would far rather pretend, like I had, that it is the middle of the Clone Wars right now and that I had never turned against him and our largest battle with one another was about when to spar or whether to move the clones north or west against the droid army.

It is nicer than I would admit to most to see him again, especially without a blade between us. However, our regained friendship would have to cease.

"Obi-wan?" I begin before my brain decides how to phrase this delicate exchange. I mindlessly curse my overeager mouth, while he looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. He probably noticed my nerves from the quavering in my voice, in just that one word.

Damn nerves. They should go take a long walk off of a very short ship. Meanwhile, back wherever we are, I am faced with a curious Obi-wan and a rather confused Padmé.

"I know, Master, that you would like to think as though the past two decades have never occurred, but they have." I pause, taking in their utterly puzzled stares. "You seem to want to treat me as though that time never passed. I see it. You act as though there was never a blade between us, but there was and it isn't fair to you to keep deluding you into a false sense of trust." While searching for more words, Obi-wan gives a short laugh, more like a snort than anything else, and opens his mouth to probably tell me to never show my face to him again.

"Anakin, though you may, at times, doubt it, I am perfectly sane. I know that you became a Sithlord and even killed me." He pauses, drawing out the declaration that would send me away from him forever. I could almost feel it coming; I could see the words forming at his lips and give an internal flinch, glad that the pain, the shame and the melancholy will soon be pushed aside when I am not confronted by so many horrific memories.

"I think you're being absurd, Anakin. I'm not here to curse you or throw pebbles at you." He gives a small grin, recalling, I'm sure, the time when we fought in the clone wars and desperate Separatists actually started tossing rocks at us.

"All I want is your friendship. I trust the Force. If the Force allowed you here, then I should trust its judgment." He gives another small smile at me, before adding, "Besides, I trust you, Anakin. I know there is little reason to, but I do. You were my padawan and I can't help how much I, well, umm, care for you." His declaration of affection was somewhat lost in the ending, but I know that it took him a lot of strength to say that to me. However, at the moment, I am rather bewildered, to say the least.

Like Padmé, he tells me that he cares for me and that I can go turn against everything and everyone and once I feel remorse for the deeds I have committed, he will always be there. I must have stood there, mouth agape for more time than what was accepted in any form of usual company. These two, however, were not any form of usual company. They consisted of my very best friend and my darling wife. Both of whom love me and I love them, more than I can converse with anyone.

Finally, I break out of my hypnosis and try and make a grin wide enough to convey the utter bliss that is searing through my veins. Difficulties may come, for my mental health and from others' opinions, but all of the problems will be faced. As long as I have my angel on my left and my best friend on my right, I will be able to face everything. In life, I faced my fears and fell, but in death, I will succeed where I failed and I will reap the rewards of succeeding, utter bliss.


	3. Chapter 2: Facing the Truth

Chapter 2

Obi-wan, Padmé, and I all spend the afternoon talking and laughing about nothing. All serious topics are taboo and we all tell stories of escapades and grandeur. In a very small amount of time, I am completely relaxed, with them, with myself.

It happens when Obi-wan is telling Padmé when we were on a small planet neither of us could recall the name of, and we were captured by purple and blue beings, with long necks and no eyebrows with weapons were sticks and a very peculiar contraption that made really loud noises, when Obi-wan pauses in the middle of his sentence and quickly says, "I have something to show you, Anakin." It was said without the humor of before but not in a negative way. He seems as surprised as anyone.

I sent him a curious glance and he just shakes his head and puts his index finger to his lips.

"It's a surprise," he whispers, as though there are others around who could hear us.

He holds out his hand to me and only me, so I glance at Padmé. She seems to have some idea about all of this and gestures to me to take his hand. She realizes that her absence in the surprise is why I'm hesitant and just murmurs, "go."

I listen to her request and place my hand upon my former master's. What follows is one of the most uncomfortable trips I'd ever felt. The world begins to spin and I want to close my eyes, but they're transfixed upon the moving background. Suddenly I feel a strange pull, as though a giant is pulling my feet and my body, unwanted, follows. The multi-colored background, after a moment, fades to a deep green, and the spinning stops just seconds later. I put my hand upon my forehead and groan. I close my eyes and pretend I didn't just do whatever it was we had just done.

"Anakin, are you well?" he asks, seemingly unaffected.

"Just peachy," I force out at the large blurry thing in front of me that I assume was him. A few minutes pass and the world is clear again, well as clear as it could be in a dark forest.

"Where are we?"

I couldn't think of where I had seen this before. It is all so familiar, but I couldn't place the towering trees, the omnipresent greenery, and the military base in the distance. I know I had been here before but it must have been a lifetime ago.

"The moon of Endor," he says simply. I turn to look at him and scream.

"Obi-wan," I start, hesitantly, "why are you all blue? You look like a creepy phantom."

He inexplicitly chuckles, before pointing at me and says, "Look in the mirror." I look down upon myself and give another small yell.

I am also made of creepy bluish blobs. I look up at Obi-wan, down at myself, and then back at Obi-wan.

"Why am I like this?" I ask him, utterly befuddled.

"This is the way the dead can travel between worlds."

"What? The dead can travel between worlds?" I say, just quieter than a shout. Why hadn't anyone ever told me about this? Why didn't anyone ever speak to me?

"Yes, they can. At this point, only Jedi can. It was only recently discovered how to do it by a certain Qui-gon Jinn." He glanced at me with a radiant smile. He, then, closes his eyes and all of a sudden, instead of a youthful man with a dark, plentiful beard, stood a slightly crooked man with a wispy, Hoth-white beard complemented by very little hair to speak of.

"Wow, Obi-wan, you got old!" Teasing him about his age was my own personal pastime. Now, this made it _so_ much easier.

"Yes, you can control your age, your appearance. We're a sort of…shadow, I suppose..." He left the end hanging, as though I was going to ask how to make myself old. I reach up and feel long, thick hair.

"Obi-wan, I have plentiful, wondrous locks. I'm not going to give them up just to look old." If he thought I would change my appearance, just to match my age, then he is insane. I didn't get enough time with my hair, thank you very much.

He smiles at me for a moment, before beckoning me forward with long, wrinkled fingers. I try not wince and follow him through the forest. When we make it to a small clearing, he stops and I purposely walk into him.

"Anakin." He sounds sick of me already. Maybe I am acting too much like I used to. I start to breathe quickly and I feel my legs start to quiver slightly. Then, the oozing feeling in my stomach starts, as though someone is trying to escape from the interiors of my body. Maybe Obi-wan wants me to act like a padawan again. Before I can say anything to him, however, all of my fears are put to rest with a decrepit, but wide, grin that is growing on his face.

"I've missed that so much," he says. For a split second, I think he's going to cry, but the tears I so thought I saw, disappear as he addresses me again.

"Okay, we're going to travel again." I start to walk forward, but he grabs my tunic.

"No, we won't make it by walking. We're going to do a sort-of…teleporting. It's how we got here." At a mention of our sickening arrival, I attempt to walk away again.

"No, you're coming with me. It would be more comfortable if you're willing." I give a childish pout, but nevertheless, stop my struggling.

I squeeze my eyes shut this time. I feel the drop of my stomach, as though that tiny person inside me is dancing, jumping up and down, but it reminds me more of flying than anything else. I have a feeling that one day I'm going to really enjoy it, once I'm able to do it myself.

As soon as the woozy feelings fade from my gut, I open my eyes. We're still on the moon of Endor, but this time, we appear in a clearing with many creatures, loud music, and fireworks above our heads. I quell the urge to go exploring and look at Obi-wan, slightly confused. He gives a little, almost nonexistent glance, right in front of me. Standing there is Luke.

He's accompanied by the widest grin I had ever seen upon his face. His round face is staring directly at me, so I assume he can see both of us.

I have heard of those who have a "blaze in their eyes", a purpose that transposes anything else, a defiance that conquers anything else. I used to believe I had it. I was convinced everyone could see something I couldn't, a determined stance, perhaps. However, I have never seen anyone who embodies it as Luke does, leaning against that tree, giving me a smile, encouraging, loving, and perhaps, a tad bashful.

I had never had a plan for my life, really. There were certainly various things I wanted to accomplish, but I never had thought about who I would be after I…kill the Sith, for example. As I stare at Luke, a goofy grin plastered upon my human face, I see who I would want to be after I accomplish my goals. Compassionate, but resolute. I give an inaudible sigh.

"Love them much, you do," a croaky voice floats over to me. I whip my head around to look at where the voice came from and saw the green, wrinkled creature that had so plagued my young life. I give him a small smile, though still rather puzzled.

"I'll talk to you later," Obi-wan whispers into my ear and looks back at Luke. I follow suite and stare again at the young boy. When I fought in the Clone Wars, I had never thought myself young. When I fought Dooku on Geonosis, I didn't feel young. When I married the love of my life, I didn't feel young. But, somehow, as I watch Luke watch me, I couldn't even comprehend how young he looked.

I could imagine him so clear as a babe. With unusually wide, vividly blue eyes, puffed cheeks, and dark lips, he must have been a beautiful child. I instantly quelled the jealousy, as it was no one's fault but my own that I didn't see him ride in his first land cruiser, make his first friend, and say his first word, and come home after his first date, as happy as I was after I saw Padmé for the first time so many years ago.

I notice Luke looking at Obi-wan, with a crooked grin, as defiant as he had been upon the Death Star. I think I can safely assume that his defiance had been about me, as Luke had obviously gone against him in his redemption of me. Apparently, he likes proving Obi-wan wrong just as much as I do. The smile upon my face grows impossibly wider.

The three of us stand there for a few more moments, watching Luke watch us. I meet his eyes multiple times and am delighted that he looks so happy seeing me.

Then, a woman, about as tall as Padmé, starts walking over to Luke. I squint at her for a second, trying to see in the dim light and quickly realize that it's Leia, the Princess of Alderaan (though it hardly matters now) and my daughter.

This is my first time seeing her, knowing that she is of my own blood. Watching her gracefully stride over, I find it difficult to think of a single reason why I had never made the connection before. She was so Padmé-esque that it was truly beyond scary. Not only did she have Padmé's features, hair, and career, she embodies Padmé more than anyone I have ever met, including Padmé's sister, Sola. The way Leia stood there, in her moment of triumph, I couldn't help the feeling of pride that started to grow in my chest. It makes so very little sense why I would feel such a thing, for I am the one who tried to stop her many times, but the bond between us was strong, even though I had never known of its existence.

I hope that one day, when Leia's hair is speckled with white; she will find it in her heart, not to forgive me, because that is impossible, but to find out about her mother, even if it includes researching me as well.

Leia is walking toward Luke now and leans over his shoulder. She whispers something incomprehensible into his ear, and he nods. As Leia hasn't been disturbed by the appearance of bluish blobs, I'm assuming that she can't see us, though it wouldn't really surprise me if she was pretending that she didn't notice our presence.

Apparently Leia convinced him to leave his position from the tree, and he moves to stands up straight. He looks straight at me for another split second before turning around, arm around his sister, my beautiful daughter. The thought of a daughter is truly beyond my understanding. I had just come to terms with one child, never mind another. Unlike Luke, I'm certain that she will never accept me. Not only is she very stubborn (I suppose she got it from both Padmé and me), she has experienced the worst of me. She knew Darth Vader better than most, having the most horrific experience with me. She lived through the destruction of her entire planet, her home. She also went through torture, excruciatingly painful torture. I would know.

The torture devices hadn't changed much since the Clone Wars and as I had been captured a fair few times by the Sith, I had lived to tell the tale about many of the devices used. I mentally shudder at the thought of what Leia went through. I wonder how I could have even done that to another. Was I really that far lost that I could mercilessly place others under the pain that I had gone through? How was it that I could torture people and kill people and never feel anything but gratitude toward Palpatine? How could I torture my own daughter? Selfish, as it was, the last question plagues me more than the rest.

Luke gives a small wave in our direction and walks back to the rest of the celebrations with Leia. I hope that he will have fun, not only with this, but with his life, now that the Sith were gone. I internally grin again. It feels unbelievably good to think that. I feel so free, so alive. Of course, I was dead, so where did those thoughts leave my mental sanity? I give another smile; I am surprised I didn't explode into a glowing ball of happiness at this moment.

The three of us, Obi-wan, Yoda, and me, stand there for a few more minutes. To see the galaxy at peace once more is lovely. It's the party, the joy that I expected when the Clone War ended, except it never really did. It morphed into this civil war. Everything should become normal again. The difference was that Luke isn't going to go to Coruscant to greet the Jedi Masters, telling them of his success. He isn't going to be able to take a few months off for his valiant effort. No, now he has a new responsibility. Again, he has to fix my mess. He has to figure out how to get the Jedi going again. I wish him luck with that. It will be very difficult. I had massacred most anyone with any Force ability. I feel a surge of guilt race through my body again, but I quell it, at least for the moment.

I could stand there, watching the happiness of the Rebel Alliance for days. Seeing them so triumphant was a blessing in disguise for me. It makes me guilty just thinking about it, but it makes me feel as though the actions that I did, while horrific, atrocious, and every other horrible adjective, are reversible. It won't be easy, and I'm the one who should have done it, but it will eventually revert back to the old ways. Well, maybe not exactly like the old ways. I'm sure that leaders like Mon Mothma will see some of the flaws of the Old Republic and change it for the better.

My musings are interrupted by a voice behind me.

"Anakin, come on. We should be going back." I really wanted to whine at him to stay just five more minutes, but I suppress the desire and let him grab my shoulder.

This time, the spinning doesn't bother me. I actually smile as the greenery turns into a tornado around my head and unfolds to a beautiful meadow. I land on my feet, though I stumble onto Obi-wan's back. My feet are intertwined with his and we both fall onto the grass. He groans as I squash him.

"Anakin, get off of me!" I push myself off of him and blind a few times, trying to stop the rolling hills from rolling around my head.

"Sorry," I mutter, but I'm already distracted by the goddess in front of me.

"Hello again," she murmurs, a brilliant beam shining upon her face. I open up my arms, and she falls right unto my chest. I close my arms and savor her.

I savor the way she rests her head against my neck; I savor the way she squeezes me as hard as she envelopes me into her embrace. I savor the way her hair falls onto her back and tickles my fingers as I hold her. I savor the way she smells like a Nubian beach, wondrously sweet and impossible to resist. I even savor the way she has to break off our greeting to sneeze, almost obnoxiously loudly.

"Bless you," Obi-wan and I say to her. She thanks us with a nod as she tries to conquer another sneeze but fails as she goes onto a rampage of them.

"Are you all right?" I ask her, when she finally stops her fit. She smiles, completely composed except for her hair which was moved from side to side during her seizure of sneezes. I slowly reach out my fingers and lightly wiggle them through her hair. She laughs but humors me. When I absentmindedly glance at Obi-wan, he is torn between trying hard not to burst out laughing and wanting to watch our intimate movements with affection.

Once her hair is straightened, I'm tempted to just stand there with her, relishing the way she feels. I resist the urge and just grab a hold of her hand, clutching it with all of my strength. At last, we turn to Obi-wan, smiles dancing across our faces.

He finally can't take it anymore and burst out laughing himself. For a reason I can't really explain so did all of us. We must have looked absurd, should anyone have been present in this petite oasis.

Obi-wan quells his chuckles, after a few minutes, looks up at the sky and nods. He turns to me and says, "Qui-gon is coming."

I look around the beautiful valley that Obi-wan, Padmé, and I find ourselves in. Quickly, I turn away from one side, the mountainous horizon, for he couldn't be coming from there. The only other way he could be coming would be from the hills. If he was coming from this way, however, we would see him from a while off. I take one moment to cherish the small slopes of grass as green as mint ice cream and peaceful and lovely as Padmé's face.

As soon as I process this, Qui-gon appears, seemingly out of nowhere. Apparently, he likes teleporting as well.

Qui-gon Jinn looks exactly the way he had when I had seen his body burning. (Does everyone actually _like_ staying old?) The only thing that had changed was my perception. He no longer is the giant I had remembered. We are able to easily look each other in the eye, not that I am. Right now, I'm looking at him, everywhere except for his eyes. I don't think I can really bear to see disappointment. True, I never really knew the man, but he was something special to me. Occasionally, Obi-wan would tell me stories about when he was Qui-gon's padawan. The two of them were so perfectly matched.

Finally, after I can't wait any longer, I acknowledge his presence. For another second, I look into his dark eyes. They almost seemed unsurprised. He has no frustration lines and no wrinkles, cornering his eyes. It's almost as though he has prepared himself for this meeting, but how could he? How could he ever imagine I would turn back to the way I had been when I was nine?

"Anakin," he says, his voice just as soothing and leveled as I remember. I don't know what to say back. What can I say to him?

He was the one who brought me from squalor to a life that could have so much more meaning. He thought I was the Chosen One. Some chosen one I turned out to be…

I think that Qui-gon is waiting for some form of acknowledgement, so I open my mouth to say something, but I just stand there, trying to think of something decent and relevant to say.

Before I can muster up the courage to say anything, Qui-gon starts speaking again. I watch him while he speaks to me.

"Anakin," he repeats. His voice sounds even gentler than the first time or perhaps I am imagining it. I nod when he says my name. I idly notice that he calls me 'Anakin' and not 'Ani'.

"The Force works in the strangest ways," he says to me, as though he was commenting on something trivial, not my entire life. I nod to him, still wondering where on Coruscant he is going with the topic.

"I'm sorry that I never got to know you, Anakin. I see you've grown up to be a fine, young man." He places his hand upon my shoulder and looks upon me with what I must assume is a look of approval. I smile back at him, trying to suppress the urge to throw myself at his feet and beg for forgiveness.

Qui-gon has always been one of the more unusual people in my life. Though my experiences were so short, he made a significant impression. If I could have imagined one Jedi that I would fashion myself after, he probably would be the one.

Where Obi-wan was almost obsessed with following the rules (though I helped to break that terrible habit), where Yoda was wise, where Mace Windu was annoying (I easily imagine Obi-wan telling me off for that, as though he had just yesterday), Qui-gon was different. He held an abnormal aura. He was always calm but never unaware. He could dive into any battle but was never rash. He was free from the Council, to an extent, but they still respected him and his opinions. It was the love/hate relationship that I never shared with them. Mine was always hate/hate.

As I stare at Qui-gon, at eye level, I can perhaps see the man that he is. He had to work for everything he had. He never awoke one morning and was able to defy the Council. He established himself first.

I never did that. I was unaware and rash. I was never half the man that he was. And yet, he is now looking upon my face as though I had saved the universe.

Well, perhaps, in a weird, ironic way, I did, but I only did after killing, torturing, and destroying first. I don't think I can ever take responsibility for the saving of the galaxy. I led the world into darkness. The only fair thing to do would be to lead it out. However, I couldn't even do that. Luke gets full responsibility for that.

It was as though I had stabbed a person repeatedly, and afterword, I saved his body from being run over by a spaceship. No one could, would, or should ever deny my innocence. Even Luke would never do such a thing, maybe because he was on the brunt of my sword more than I would ever like to think about recalling.

At this point, I'm sure Qui-gon believes I'm brain-dead, having stared unresponsively at him for quite a few minutes. Somehow, I think he knows, though. Somehow, in the depths of his mind, he knows that I need time to deal with, well, everything that has happened in my life. My life was so short. How many more times did Yoda live than I? While many of my friends and family died young, that was mostly my fault. People who had no correspondence to me probably averaged a lifespan a lot higher. For a moment, I want to weep for the lives that have been lost, simply because people knew me. I can't even imagine a person with more blood on their hands.

Yes, Palpatine did order a majority of the deaths, he never inflicted them. In a way, I suppose, he is worse, never doing his dirty work. I don't think that I can burden my own woes and regrets on him though. He shall not be the scapegoat of my own afflictions.

As always, Qui-gon is still smiling at me. Even though we are the same height, I can't shake off the feeling of him looking down at me, not patronizing but loving, like a was a nine year old boy again who believed that no one could kill a Jedi. I nearly laugh aloud just thinking about my foolishness. Or is that just blissful innocence? I don't think I can decide which one.

Apparently deciding I'm never actually going to verbally respond, he takes the initiative again.

"It's so wonderful to see you again, Anakin. I wish I could have seen you grow up, though I see Obi-wan did a very good job of training you." He smiled at his former padawan. Although I hadn't paid any attention to it before, their bond was almost tangible. Like static electricity, the closeness they shared was, in a way, alive.

It is the way they occasionally glance at each other and smile. It's the way that Obi-wan seeks approval from Qui-gon, even while they are physically very close to the same age, and Obi-wan was alive longer.

"Yes," I finally say, "yes, Obi-wan did an excellent job of training me." I glance at my former master, and he stares at me. I don't think I've ever actually told him that. I might have implied it but had I ever mentioned it, how grateful I was? I could have been trained by a stuck-up half-wit or a mindless gumbo, but I got trained by a man so much better than I could be. As much as I would complain, I knew that I was lucky, unbelievably lucky. Had I ever told that to him before? I wasn't a sentimental guy, but I must have told him how much I care about him, besides sarcastically, right?

I nod to them, to further prove my belief in the statement. Then, without any warning, Padmé wraps her arm around my waist. For a moment, I worry. I had never shown affection to her in front of anyone else, as it had been forbidden, but it felt indescribably wrong. I try and cover up the tension in my shoulders and my eyebrows, easing them loose. Perhaps Qui-gon can see my anxiety, because he gives a reassuring smile.

I try to confidently smile back, a far easier task when Padmé is next to me.

"So," she says, probably trying to break the tension. She keeps the ending open, so someone else can find a way to have the four of us start talking like best friends. I lightly squeeze her waist, thanking her for the attempt.

"I'm so proud of you, Anakin," Qui-gon says. The statement makes me happier than I would have ever believed. I'm still not sure why he's so proud, but the sentiment is still very much appreciated.

"Thank you, Master. I don't think I don't know why you're proud. Shouldn't you be-" I break off in the middle. What could I say? Shouldn't you be angry or horrified?

"Why wouldn't I be proud of you, Anakin? You saved the galaxy, bringing the prophecy into fulfillment. You also did the seemingly impossible: turning back from the Dark Side. You proved almost all of the Jedi wrong." He must have added that last sentence without thinking about it. I can't imagine he wanted to make Obi-wan blush like he had been found kissing Yoda. Nevertheless, Obi-wan flushed as soon as he mentioned that I had proved many Jedi wrong. Was he one of the ones who thought I was lost in the abyss of darkness forever?

I wouldn't be that surprised. If I thought I had been lost for eternity, it's no wonder that he did. He saw my atrocities more than many. I can't imagine Luke would have any hope left, should he have seen my more terrible acts. Just thinking of that, I want to tell him. I want to find Luke and tell him everything, so I know that he'll accept me, no matter what I did. I quickly shake off the notion. I doubt communicating with the alive is something we can do constantly.

"I'm sorry," Obi-wan says, after just a few moments. I honestly can't recall a time when I had seen him more flustered. Qui-gon could certainly influence him.

"Why are you apologizing? I went and killed half of the galaxy and you're apologizing! Didn't we just go through this?" I can see Qui-gon trying to hide his smile under his beard.

"But I didn't believe in you. I knew you better than almost anyone." He indicates to Padmé. "Padmé always believed in you. Even upon her dying bed, she was proclaiming your redemption in the foreseeable future. I didn't trust you enough. For all of those years, I should have moved you forward, all of those times I held you back. I thought it was for your own good, but it must have been so frustrating for you. I always underestimated you, Anakin. For that and for everything, I am sorry."

All of his barriers seem to have been broken down. He is standing here, with all of his usual dignity and sophistication gone, begging for forgiveness against the sins I committed. The absurdity of it all makes me want to laugh.

"Come on, Obi-wan. Are you serious?" I couldn't help but ask it. How could he be here, wanting me to forgive him? Obi-wan looks at me, surprised but nods anyway.

"Please an old man. Humor me," he says. Both Qui-gon and Padmé are glancing at each other, trying to unnoticeably walk away. As soon as I open my mouth to speak, there is a quiet 'pop' and they are gone.


	4. Chapter 3: An Apology and a Crisis

Chapter 3

"If you really want me to forgive you, then I will, but I don't think that there is anything to forgive. You trained me. I can't imagine a better master than you, Master. Only a fool would still believe me redeemable, so many years after I turned." I squeeze my hands and made myself meet his eyes.

"Qui-gon did," he whispers, probably half to himself.

"Qui-gon was a fool. Luke was a fool." At this, he smiles.

"I tried to convince both of them to stop wishing, hoping, believing. If Luke had listened to me-"

Neither of us can bear to finish that sentence. There is silence for a moment. It isn't uncomfortable, but I would much rather be with Padmé. I must have looked wistful, because he says, "we can talk about this later," but I shake my head slowly.

"You have this bizarre notion that you are at fault here. I have to correct you. It is my duty as your former padawan to correct you whenever you're wrong and laugh at you whenever I think about it and bring it up almost as much."

Again, Obi-wan smiles.

"I have certainly done it enough with Qui-gon."

He looks at me in the eyes, smile gone, and says, "Anakin, stop getting off topic." He takes a deep breath, and murmurs, "please forgive me, Anakin."

"If you really want me to forgive you, I still need to know what to forgive you for," I say, fiddling with hemming on the Jedi-style shirt I appeared in.

"Come on, Anakin!" he shouts, making me flinch away. His eyes are wide, nearly taking over his entire face, and his eyebrows are near his hairline.

"Obi, what are you talking about?"

"Stop playing dumb, Anakin. I know you know what I'm talking about. I also know that you blamed me for a long time. Maybe you don't blame me now, but it's because you have buried all of it. I know you, Anakin."

I look up and he continues, "I know you, and I know that there is a part of you that blames me." I'm about to cut in when he continues again, "It might be very small, but there is a part of you, and there has always been that part of you. I won't be so bold to assume the blame of the entire thing, but you shouldn't be so vain to take the fault of the whole thing either. I know you're a vain person, but can you release you vanity for just a few moments?"

As much as I want to refute everything he said, I can't even open my mouth. I want to tell him that I don't blame him at all, and I never blamed him. I want to tell him that it's so silly for him to place such burdens to bear on himself, as though they are all his own. I want to tell him that he is one of the Jedi that I always, without a doubt, trusted, but I couldn't. There _has_ always been a part of me that blames him. When I was young and his padawan, I never thought he would let me progress like I should. I thought him jealous, but do I still blame him?

"Master, I'll admit," I swallow once before I can continue, "that there were times over my life where I blamed you. I foolishly called you jealous of me and that's why you wanted to hold me back." I force myself to look into his eyes, to look at the pain I am causing upon his face. Even saying these cruel things, I feel-good isn't the right word-but I feel content. We are talking about the things I could never talk about in life. It's stupid that we had to wait so long to speak of such easily resolved matters. Maybe they were easily (or more easily) resolved now, but as much as it pains me to even think it, I wasn't ready for such a talk. I could never handle it maturely. I would take it as Obi-wan admitting his weakness, but, in reality, it is Obi-wan admitting his strength. (I idly notice that I sound like a preacher to younglings and mentally grin.)

"Obi-wan, I know you weren't jealous of me, but I thought that you wanted to feel better about yourself, that you wanted to think you were more talented than me. Even if I did blame you then, I can't blame you now. What can I even say that remotely incriminating? That you couldn't stop me at Mustafar?" As I spoke, my volume raised, resulting in almost yelling the last question. Even with that volume, the last question was said in jest, but I don't think he is taking it that way.

"Yes," he whispers, so quietly I can barely hear it in the silent meadow. I want to take minutes, hours, years, to compose myself, to think of something really perfect, really incredible to say. I want to say something that will make everything okay again, so we'll never have a problem again. Unfortunately, Padmé never really rubbed off on me, so I'll just have to be my usual charming self.

"No one, no one ever blamed you for what happened for Mustafar," I say, my voice as deep as I could manage, trying to sound remotely stern. I want to try a Vader technique, to make him take me seriously, but I lower my hand. There is no one to choke here. I am Anakin Skywalker, not Darth Vader, and I will make myself heard through words, not violence. I chant that in my mind until I can find the strength to continue, but he starts instead.

"I was supposed to stop you. I wanted to listen to Master Yoda, who told me to-to-" He struggles with the right way to say it.

"Kill?" I helpfully provide.

"Yes." He looks at me, straight in the eye. The way his eyelids drooped, the way his forehead was crinkled, I long to tell him that I didn't want this talk now, but I couldn't, I wouldn't, stop this now.

"I wanted to listen to Master Yoda, but I also wanted to listen to Padmé. She told me that you were doing nothing dark. I didn't know what to do, Anakin. I didn't want to fight you at all. You know, I asked Yoda if I could take on Palpatine instead, so I wouldn't have to fight you, so I wouldn't have to think of what had happened." His voice breaks, and he looks off into the distance, seemingly registering none of the beauty of the landscape.

"Obi-wan, I can't imagine the position you were in, but know this-" I take a deep breath, preparing for a long monologue to try and shake him back into the Obi-wan that I know he is. He isn't this person, someone who looks like he's about to break down in tears any moment; he's just...Obi-wan.

"Obi-wan, Master, I blamed you so much when I was growing up. I was resentful; I was jealous; I was an annoying snot-nosed kid who thought he was better than everyone else. Then, there was you. You had infinite patience; you were incredibly wise for your years, and you could seemingly put up with everything. I was jealous of you, so I thought that you must be jealous of me. I just wish I could change everything. I think I can honestly say Mustafar was one of the worst days of my life and not because of the whole 'losing my body' thing." As I mention that, he shudders.

"As angry as I have been with you, I think that there is nothing more stupid. I can't think of a time when I should have been angry with you." It looks like he is about to butt in, so I quickly finish up. "If you want me to forgive you, then I'll say it, 'I forgive you', but know I forgave you a long time ago."

Obi-wan looks at me, a smile growing upon his face.

"I forgive you, too" is all he says to me. For a moment, we just stare at each other, but then, one of us (and I couldn't tell you which of us) starts a tight hug.

"You know, Master," I finally say, "you're the best father I could have had. I'm so glad I was your apprentice."

"I'm so glad you were my apprentice, too, silly padawan," he says, grinning widely.

Suddenly, there is a soft 'pop' again, and Padmé and Qui-gon are back with us. I jump back and gracefully fall into her arms. She laughs, tucking back a strand of hair behind her ear. Unwillingly, I pull away. After all, I shouldn't be distracted right now. I mentally rolled my eyes. As if having her near me wasn't distraction enough.

"So now that that's settled," Qui-gon opens with a grin.

"Did you listen to everything we said?" I ask, but neither of them will even look at me. I groan loudly.

"Moving on," Qui-gon says, "now that we have that over with, can we get onto a few more important things?" I raise an eyebrow, a gift I have perfected while I was Vader. (I had a lot of time on my hands. Somebody had to listen to all of those Imperial reports, you know.) I try and hold back the shudder that's inevitably coming because I let my mind drift to those twenty years, but it doesn't arrive. I'm not sure if that's good or not.

"So, what's so important?" I ask.

"You're dead," Obi-wan says.

"Yes, thank you for reminding me. What about it?"

"Well, you've spent all of your time dead here. Aren't you remotely curious about the rest of the universe we're in? About death?" Qui-gon seems to have perfected the art of talking down to people without the people realizing it. Even though his tone is a mix of lightheartedness and patronizing, I don't mind. I absentmindedly note to myself that I have to learn how to do that.

"Okay, so, I'm dead. Yippee for me. Now what?"

Qui-gon laughs at my sarcasm, and I see, out of the corner of my eye, both Obi-wan and Padmé are trying to hold in grins. Just seeing her, standing there, makes me want to go over to her. I don't deny that urge and quickly close the few paces between us, grab her hand, and give her a light peck on the cheek.

"What happened to that little boy on Tatooine who wanted to explore all of the star systems?" Even though the question was deep, I just respond with a cheeky grin and the statement, "he gave up."

Ignoring my blatant annoyingness, he starts talking again, apparently giving up on my teenage-esque behavior.

"The world that we now, well the only word I guess that fits is, 'live' in is like another galaxy, except it's a different universe. It's very similar to life, but there are a few differences. We don't need anything to sustain ourselves like food or sleep, but most people like eating and sleeping." Obi-wan looks over at me pointedly, when his master mentions food.

"I hate to sound cruel or abnormal, but why is this any different from where we just were? If there are so many creatures, obviously more because everyone who is dead is here, then why aren't there more wars? Isn't this just a fancy version of where we just were?"

At my outbreak, Qui-gon laughs and says, "I was getting to that. I suppose that that little boy is still in there, somewhere."

"That's a good question," he continues. "What the different is is that there are different realms, different dimensions." He looks over me, smile wide, seemingly ecstatic that I asked that.

"That's very intuitive of you to think of that. It wasn't odd of you to jump to that conclusion. Actually, I think it shows how much you have grown."

I give Qui-gon a confused look, trying to scrunch my eyebrows appropriately. To be honest, I'm surprised how easily my facial movements came back. It's already almost natural. With just a little prompting, I feel normal, more normal than I have felt in a very long time.

"You see, only people, when they have become kind, and have changed their ways to kindness, should the case be, can people come here. I think you probably assumed that. However, most of the people that can do things of the Dark Side start out decent people. In many wars, most sides believe that they are right. To solve this, there isn't just one galaxy here. No, there are more." He swallows, ending his speech, and decides to just watch my reaction. I don't really have one.

I don't understand the appropriate reaction. There are different dimensions, instead of everybody getting along. Is it that impossible for peace? For eternal love? I suppose that this is good, but I can't believe that such an ending could be for the better.

I quickly dropped the topic, desperately trying to pick up anything else. My brain is much too boggled for the moment. I think about how Qui-gon found me on Tatooine, with a destiny as a slave alone except for my mother.

"Wait, what about my mother? Where is she? Is she here? Can I see her? Why wasn't she here?" I ask, words endlessly pouring from my mouth.

The three of them share a glance. I only barely notice.

"We were wondering when you would think of her," Padmé says to me, melancholy for the first time I had arrived.

As I think, I am undeniably ashamed. As I was reunited with all of these people, how could I not think of my own mother? I thought of her for so long, and suddenly, when meeting her was a reality, the inkling somehow forced itself out of my head.

"Where is she?" I ask once more, looking around at their long faces.

"You see, Anakin, there was a bit of a problem with your mother. She has been here for many years and has been completely fine, but she is…is sick," Qui-gon says, very slowly. His eyebrows are high on his forehead, making him look as though he was pitying me, but is he?

"Sick? What do you mean sick? She's dead- how much more dead can you get?" My voice is dangerously low. In the back of my head, I register how hazardous I am getting. I try and focus, try to stay calm, but my head is starting to spin, and the people in front of me are rocking side to side in my head. Suddenly, the trees look like they could be perfect firewood, and perhaps I could use these people, these people who took my mother from me, as fuel to this potential flame.

These people, they never cared about me. This was just part of their game. I bet they go home and laugh about how they fool people into caring about them. Now, they're quiet, scared; they should be. I could just imagine how they would laugh about hurting me. Loud, ear wrenching chuckles. Deafening cackles. I let the voice in the back of my mind take over. It's so much easier.

"Anakin," the female says, yells, I don't know. Her voice is calming me, but I don't want to be calmed. I want to be angry. Why do they use such a voice to charm me like an animal? I'm not an animal. I'm a person! Am I a person? Who am I to be a person? I want to tear apart those who hurt me. Why do they want to hurt me? I want to hurt them. I quiet any other thoughts.

"Anakin," the voice says again. Stop trying to charm me like I'm a beast. I am a person, and my name is, is, is Anakin Skywalker.

All of a sudden, the landscape stops spinning, and I see only flashes of color. Brown, like Padmé's hair, yellow, like my old podracer, blue, like my eyes, white, like the temple. I see just seconds of memories, coming quicker and quicker than the one before. Before I can distinguish even a color, they come. Faster and faster, they fly by my face. I see everything, and yet I see nothing.

Then, the flashing stops, and I hear a loud moan. As I swallow, I realize that it had been me. I open my eyes, though I can't recall ever closing them and look up at three concerned faces.

"Back up, back up," Qui-gon whispers to the others, but none of them move.

"What happened?" I ask them, trying to figure out who was who. I squint at the blobs, and they slowly come into focus.

"We were going to ask you the same question," Obi-wan says, his eyes wrinkled in concern.

I look up at them and heave myself to my feet. When I start thinking about what happened, I start panicking. What did happen? Did I start going off the deep end? Am I really still dangerous?

"Help me," I croak, swallowing my pride, before promptly fainting once more, succumbing to the darkness that so wishes to eat me alive.


End file.
